On the Radio
by amythis
Summary: An explanation of the last scene in "Supermom Burnout."


I'm washing dishes when Mona comes in with an audio cassette.

"Nice, you're gonna play music while I do housework. That's very thoughtful of you. Not as thoughtful as if you dried the dishes, but it's a start."

"No, Tony, this is a tape I borrowed from Wendy Wittener, and it's not music."  
"OK." I don't know where she's going with this.

"You see, Wendy's favorite radio program is opposite her favorite soap. Sometimes she uses her VCR and listens to the radio, and sometimes she uses her tape recorder and watches TV."

"Couldn't she use both and listen to both shows later?"

"Well, she does that if she's having a very busy morning. But today she watched the soap because there was a plot twist yesterday."

"This is fascinating, Mona, but why do you have her tape?"

"She thought I might be interested. May I borrow your radio? It plays cassettes, right?"

"Yeah, help yourself."

I go back to washing dishes and then I hear something I heard a couple hours ago: "This is Dr. Herbert Walden with _The Help Line_. Is the next caller there? You're on the air live."

OK, Micelli, keep calm. Don't give anything away.

"Uh, yeah, uh, uh, look, I got a problem, uh. I'm in love with my boss. See, uh, she and I are from different worlds and although, well, we've become very close friends over the, over the past few years—In fact, even our kids get along. Anyway, I got it bad for her! And I don't know what to do."

"Interesting, huh?"  
"Yeah, poor guy."

"So, uh, so, so what do ya think, Doc? Do I, do I marry her? Do I forget about her or what?"

"Well, Caller, how does she feel about you?"

"Well, An—uh, my boss, she called my name in her sleep a couple years ago."

"While you were sleeping together?"

"No, uh, we don't sleep together. Well, usually not. Uh, I mean—Look at the time! Gotta go! Thanks, Doc, you've been a big help."

Mona hits the off button. "So, Tony, what do you think?"

"Gee, Mone, it was hard to hear over the clatter of the dishes."

"Do you want me to rewind it?"

"No, that's OK. I feel kind of weird listening in on people's private business."

"Wendy loves it. And I can't blame her. This caller especially, there was something very familiar about him. We both thought so."

"Yeah? Well, radio distorts people's voices. You know, like TV adds ten pounds."

"This caller didn't sound heavier, but the radio might've taken his voice down an octave."

I realize I can't get out of this, so I reluctantly turn and face her.

"Mona, I don't want to talk about it with you."  
"Tony, are you forgetting I have a degree in Psychology?"

"Well, you're certainly good at mind games."

"Thank you. Talk to me, Tony."

"I can't. You're too close to the situation."  
"So you'd rather discuss it with Dr. Walden? Or Dr. Berl?"

"I'm not seeing Dr. Berl anymore. I don't need any help."

"Uh huh."

"Look, Mona. Give me the tape."

"Why?"

"Because I'm afraid you'll misuse it."

"Moi?"

"Oui, vous."

"Oh, Tony, I think we're on 'tu' terms. Especially if you've got it bad for my daughter."

"Mona." I hold out my hand for the cassette.

"It's not my tape, Tony. I promised I'd get it back to Wendy as soon as I was done with it, so she can tape tomorrow's show."

"Uh huh. How do I know she won't misuse it?"

"She promised she'd only share it with me."

"I don't know about this."  
"If you like, Tony, I can do a little Rosemary Woods action on it."

"Like with Watergate?" I was just reading about Watergate last night, for class.  
"Well, I am a secretary. I can certainly figure out how to 'accidentally' erase eighteen-and-a-half minutes of tape."

"She only erased five."

"I think five should cover it."

"OK. And then we drop this, all right?"

"Of course, Tony."

I don't completely trust her, but I don't have much choice. She ejects the tape and then takes it to her apartment, where she says she has "more audiovisual equipment." (I don't want to know.)

I still can't believe I called _The Help Line_. But in-person therapy wasn't working for me.

We started out with "family therapy" because the kids have been squabbling now that Jonathan (who skipped sixth grade) is a freshman and Sam (who was born after the kindergarten cut-off date) is a junior at the same high school, despite almost four years' age difference. They fight like brother and sister, but apparently that's normal, living together all these years.

Dr. Berl thought I needed more therapy though for, I still can't believe this, "Supermom Burnout." It turns out I have a lot in common with women who are "doing it all," in my case not just my job as housekeeper but going to college, and all the things I do around here. Yeah, like the dishes, and dealing with Mona's matchmaking.

After the group session, Dr. Berl asked me to stay after to talk to him one-on-one.

"Is this going to cost extra?"

"No, it won't be a full hour. I hope. I just wanted to ask you about something you said in the group."

"You want my tuna noodle recipe?"

"No thank you. I thought it was very interesting that you called Angela your husband."

"Well, that was sort of, you know, a Freudian slip."

"I'm a Jungian."  
"Jung didn't have slips?"

"Well, sometimes. But it was a slip that you turned into a running joke."

"I like to make jokes. It makes me feel Jung."

He gave me an indulgent chuckle but he didn't let up. "When Rosey said that she and Ed had 'a terrific night of sex,' you joked, 'Maybe Angela's not the best husband a guy could have.' "

"You didn't think that was funny?"

"It was very funny. And very revealing. Is that what you want from Angela?"

"Well, uh, yeah, someday. If we ever get married."

"Do you want to marry her?"

"Yeah, well, I've maybe thought about it."

"So what's stopping you?"

"You saw her. She's beautiful, smart, successful."

"She sounds like quite a catch."

"She is. But that's intimidating. And she is my boss. She brings home the bacon, and I fry it up in a pan."

"And she never lets you forget you're a man?"  
"Enjoli," I can't help singing.

"Tony?"

"Well, you know, Angela and I have a very modern relationship. But, yeah, I do feel like a man around her. Not like with Marie, where I was the provider. But like when I comfort Angela when she's sad or worried. Or when we dance together. Or when I open a jar for her."

"But no terrific nights of sex?"

"Well, you know, there've been moments where it seems like it'll go in that direction, but the timing hasn't been right. And there are these other obstacles."

"Do you love her?"

"That's kind of personal."

"I'm a psychologist. I'm paid to be personal."

"I thought I wasn't paying you for this session."

"OK, then I'm just nosy."

I sighed. "Yeah, I love her. I've always loved her, from the start. As a friend I mean. She brings out my protective instinct. She's got this little-girl side and, even though she's divorced, she's kind of naïve about men."

"Is she naïve about you?"

"Huh?"

"Tony, how do you think she feels about you?"

I shrugged. "Well, you know. I'm not just her housekeeper."

"I saw that the other day. Most bosses, and for that matter most 'husbands,' wouldn't laugh at their housekeeper, or 'wife,' imitating them. But she took it in stride."

"Well, she's a very classy lady."

"Yes."

"But there's another side to her."

"She has a lot of sides."

"She does. I mean, I loved Marie, of course. She was my first love. But she was so simple. Not stupid, but everything was right on the surface." Well, except for the whole art class thing.

"She was Italian, like me, so there was nothing bottled up, nothing unspoken, well almost nothing. Angela's different. The longer I know her, the more I feel there is to find out. Like, we went to Brooklyn recently, house-sitting. Well, I grew up there you know. And Angela's pure Connecticut. But after awhile, she relaxed and fit right in. She can let her hair down—" I stop myself because I think of how I like it when it's up, that Grace Kelly neck all exposed, and I want to rain kisses on it but I always control myself, just like when she offers a glimpse of those gorgeous long legs that I want to run my hands up, and—

"Tony?"

"Uh, sorry, Doc. You were sayin'?"

"Do you think Angela loves you? Not as a friend but more."

"Well, she said she did, once."

"Uh huh?"

"But she was asleep!"

"Have you ever told her you love her, not as a friend?"

"Well, yeah, when I was almost unconscious."

"This is the most remarkable case of dual repression I've ever seen!"

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, I'm not repressed! Italians don't do repression."

"Tony, I have Italian patients, and some of them have been repressed by their families or Catholicism or—"

"OK, now you're getting bigoted!"

"Or by themselves. Tony, I think we should schedule an individual session."

"No, I'm sorry. But I'm done."  
"OK, Tony, if you're not comfortable talking to me, maybe you could talk to another doctor. Or a friend."

"Well, that's kind of a problem, Doc, seeing how Angela is my best friend."

"Why don't you talk to your second-best friend?"

"That would be her matchmaking mother."  
"I can see why you'd hesitate to talk to Mona. But what about your best male friend?"

"Well, that would be Bobby Governale, but he travels a lot. He's a professional accordion-player."

"Well, then your second-best male friend."

"Who? Philly Fingers?"

"Philly Fingers?"

"Yeah. That's no good. I know exactly what he'd say." I did the gravely voice, " 'Tony, why don't ya just jump her?' "

"So why don't you?"  
"Angela's not the kind of woman you jump. She's the kind of woman you woo."

"Woo?"

"Yeah, you know, court."  
"And how do you woo?"

"Well, you make a nice candlelit dinner. Get some champagne. Hope that Mona and the kids don't come back early from their overnight plans. And you talk and you flirt and you suggest continuing the conversation over by the fire."

"And then?"

I sighed. "And then your appendix bursts and you get rushed to the hospital, where the drugs makes you tell her you love her."

"I see."

"Look, Doc, you've been a big help. And I will find someone to confide in."

"I hope so, Tony. For your sake, and Angela's."

So, yeah, I knew it was crazy at the time, but I called _The Help Line_. I thought I'd disguised my voice enough, but apparently not.

…

The next day, I'm outside, about to wash the cars. (I know, I know, but I am trying to cut back. It's just I figured as long as I was washing mine, I might as well do Angela's, too.)

Mona comes out from the kitchen. "Hey, can you wash mine, too?"

"This is a good time for me to practice saying no. NO!"

"OK, OK. No need to shout."

"So did you take care of the tape?"

"Oh, I knew there was something I meant to do."  
"Mona, where is it? I'll take care of it."

"Let me think. Oh, the last place I saw it was in your kitchen radio. Right before I told Angela she should try the grapes you brought home from the store, before the kids eat them all."

I stare at her. "Mona, you're the worst schemer I've ever met!"

"Moi?"

"Tu. So she's in there right now, listening to the tape. Well, at least she'll probably think it's a live show."

"Tony, Angela is a sophisticated woman who works in the mass media. She'll realize that it's pre-recorded."

"She's also naïve about some things, especially when her emotions are being played with."

"Well, maybe you'd better get in there before she has a chance to think too much about it."

I sigh and put down the bucket of water, although I want to throw it at her. As nonchalantly as I can, I stroll into the kitchen, just as "the caller" is asking if he should marry the boss or forget about her, and I hit the Eject button. Angela has the bowl of grapes and she looks riveted, but she does turn away from the radio when I move my hand away. I'd swipe the tape now, but she'd notice that.

"I never listen to them shows. Too many weirdoes, you know?"

She stares at me.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just thought I recognized the voice."

"Well, you know everybody sounds different on the radio."


End file.
